


Theme and Variations: Star Wars Shorts from a Galaxy Far Far Away

by flute25



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Halloween, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Short One Shot, Shorts, codywan if you squint or would like it that way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-01-28 06:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12600332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flute25/pseuds/flute25
Summary: A series of shorts based on our favorite characters from a galaxy far far away. Am trying for at least one snippet a day in November. After that it will be as the muse visits.





	1. H.W.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to put all of my little tumblr Star Wars shorts in one place, so here we are. I'm giving each chapter initials for the title because I had the Enigma Variations going through my head as I wrote this little intro paragraph. 
> 
> I welcome prompts and am open to suggestions, so if you want to read something, hit me up in the comments or on my tumblr @legobiwan :)
> 
> These will probably be a little less edited than my long-form stories so thanks in advance for your patience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in denial that it's November. Starbucks gave me a holiday cup for my coffee today. Boo.

Obi-wan woke up with a blistering headache, submerged in a pile of candy wrappers. He shifted in the bed, attempting to extricate himself from the sticky pile, but the crinkling plastic clung to his skin... _everywhere_. 

Just what in the galaxy  _happened_  last night? he asked himself, peeling a green Yummy Yoda bar wrapper from his elbow.

The red-haired man finally gathered the energy roll out of bed, ignoring the way his bare feet stuck to the floor with each step. There was no sound of anyone stirring, no obvious disruption aside from the debacle in his bed. He dared to take in his own reflection in the mirror.

It was as if thousand nails had screeched across a chalkboard.

Obi-wan sighed. Of course he still wearing that blasted shirt - the hastily-made, unnaturally hued, "Obi-wan's Halloween Shirt," complete with grinning jack-o-lantern. 

_Stupid grinning gourd._

Why on earth had he let Anakin convince him to put on that thing, no less wear it out in public? 

Tea. That’s what he needed. He found an old towel on the floor, attempting to wipe the sheen of sugary remnants from his limbs before he became encased in it, like some kind of fossil in amber. 

Hadn't that been in some movie Anakin had forced him to watch? 

He shook his head in dismay and headed in the direction of the kitchen.

Nothing in the hallway was out of place. There were no errant pieces of clothing, no trail of breadcrumbs - _candy crumbs_ , he supposed - that would lead him to solve the mystery of his candy-coated bed.  _Perhaps it was a hallucination_ , Obi-wan thought, his mood lightening considerably at the idea. 

The scene in the next room only served to strengthen his faith in that conclusion. What else but a head injury, causing a temporary distortion of reality, could explain  _this?_

_Bedlam. Absolute bedlam._

The refrigerator door was half-open, an overturned carton of milk having spent the last of its resources, leaving a whitish trail of sorrow down the chrome shelves. There was a half-torn banner flowing back and forth - _WEEN!!!_ it read in outrageous yellow font. Small plastic ghosts, witches, and other indescribable assortments of creatures littered the counters, poked their heads from bowls, and grinned malevolently at him from the window shaded. Halloween had come, it seemed, had come directly into his kitchen and vomited its spirit on every last item he owned.

And the centerpiece of this glorious tableau? 

Passed out on the counter, snoring lightly, black cat tail hanging to the ground - was Ahsoka, holding a broom.

Obi-wan felt the tendrils of a headache beginning. 

_That broom._

The pain in his head began to flower. 

_Anakin._

_Wizards._

_Flying._

Was it too early in the morning for a whiskey?

Obi-wan rubbed his forehead, surveying the carnage. Ahsoka, for her part, mumbled something about "the wand chooses the wizard" before giving a faint smile and falling back into a blissful slumber.

They had watched that movie - movies, he remembered. How many of them had there been?

Wizards. Of course. Anakin would like that type of thing, wouldn't he? Obi-wan supposed it could partially explain the mess of pots and pans on the floor (potions?) and definitely the broom, but he had absolutely no rationale for the collection of fruit that had ended up in the light fixture. 

Obi-wan tried to pull his hand away from his forehead. It stuck for a moment before peeling away with some degree of difficulty.

No. He was going to get clean first. Ahsoka might be awake by then. _She_ could explain the mystery of how on earth he had allowed this chaos to unfold in his very own apartment.

Perhaps that Dooku from down the hall had temporarily held him hostage. Maybe he had been out with Rex and Cody and they had pulled one of their pranks again, like the time with the paperclips and the soda fountain. 

Maybe - 

Obi-wan pushed the bathroom door open. 

His groan echoed in the tiled room.

Of course. What else would he expect, really?

His grown -  _adult,_ he reminded himself - former student had fallen asleep in the bathtub. Not only asleep, but completely naked, holding a few candy bars in each hand and somehow still wearing that ridiculous hat. 

Anakin shifted, peering up at Obi-wan through half-open eyes. 

"Wasn't that the best, Obi-wan?" 

"I don't even want to know Anakin. I don't even want to know."


	2. C.M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this comes from a tumblr conversation/art excahnge about Obi-wan and Dooku playing chess together.

_No no no…don’t do it. Don’t do it._

His fist tightened, even as his face remained stoic. He had…had walked right into the trap.

 _Spring the trap_ , his own words mocked him.

Yes, and then get  _caught_.

“What  _shall_  you do now, Master Kenobi?” the sonorous voice of Count Dooku inquired with a hint of wry amusement.

Obi-wan Kenobi pursed his lips. An involuntary response that he caught too late. Even that one tic would speak volumes to the man in front of him.

The Jedi suppressed a growl. 

 _Fine._  

This was the essential move. If he could feint, distract Dooku - perhaps he would be victorious after all.

He reached forward, hand steady, deliberate.

“There.”

Obi-wan leaned back in his seat with as much nonchalance as he could muster. A pained, tortured groan sounded from the far corner of the room.

“A bold move, my friend. One might almost say  _too_  bold,” Dooku rumbled. The elder man reached forward towards...

_No!_

Dooku’s hand - wrinkled, liver-spotted, but still immensely powerful - hovered above its prey, drawing out the moment to almost absurd lengths. For a brief second, Obi-wan entertained the thought he would be spared, that he would be shown some small bit of mercy.

And then the Count swooped in with ruthless efficiency.

“I do believe that is checkmate, Obi-wan.”

The Jedi covered his his eyes and moaned, allowing himself to sink into the comfortable leather chair.

"It's been three hours!" Apparently, the poor, tortured soul in the corner had found his voice again. 

“Yes, Anakin,” replied Obi-wan evenly, still not taking his hand from his eyes, as the slight flush in his cheeks had not quite receded yet. “And I do hope you've learned something here.  _Force knows I certainly have_ ," Obi-wan muttered.

"That rocks are more interesting?" 

"Anakin!" Obi-wan shook his head, trying avoid the urge to roll his eyes and not succeeding.

"I do believe that I owe Master Dooku that bottle of Ithorian wine we had discussed earlier, now don't I?” And despite himself, a smile tugged at the edges of Obi-wan's mouth. He lowered his hand from his face to meet the amused gaze of his grandmaster.

“Indeed, Obi-wan. Although I am willing to forgo that particular commitment if you are foolhardy enough to believe that you might be able to best me in a rematch…”

"Now Master Dooku, really I - "

“He wants a rematch," interrupted Anakin, who suddenly materialized behind Obi-wan's chair.

“Anakin, what? You were moaning like an injured gundark over there for the past three hours. Why in the galaxy would you want to sit through this again?”

Anakin leaned over the head of the chair, his fingers playing with Obi-wan’s hair. “It  _is_ pretty boring, Master. But…Master Dooku owes me a ride in his solar sailer if you beat him this time.” The younger man gave a rakish grin at both Obi-wan and Dooku.

Well, that  _did_ make things a bit more interesting, thought Obi-wan. "Has Master Dooku agreed to this?"

Dooku let out a hearty laugh, already rearranging the chess pieces on the board to their starting positions. “He has indeed, Master Kenobi. And it is not a wager I take lightly given your former student's rather  _infamous_ piloting style."

"Tell me, will you be in the passenger seat for this voyage, my friend?"

Dooku's eyebrows lifted. "Should I take that question to mean you would like to increase the terms of our wager?" 

The gentle fire inset in the wall nearby crackled in response to the Count’s challenge. Obi-wan paused for a moment, taking in the warmth of the room. The three of them - him, his grandmaster, and his former Padawan - all together. They were all  _okay_. It had come so close to falling apart after Qui-gon’s death, near enough to disaster that he had almost touched it and yet…yet against all odds,…

“Obi-wan…” Dooku’s features clouded with concern. 

The Jedi gave his grandmaster a warm smile, reaching up to absently pat Anakin on the arm.

“Why, yes. I wouldn't miss a chance at seeing you and Anakin fly that fancy ship of yours around with a maniac at the wheel.” Obi-wan cocked his eyebrow in challenge.

"Hey!" interjected the pilot in question. 

Dooku grinned, brushing a piece of dirt form his tunics. “Shall we increase to terms to...dinner, perhaps? I know of a lovely establishment in Manarai Heights.”

 _The Minaret._  An excellent choice and one he had been planning on taking Dooku to next month anyway. Dooku's sly smile indicated that the man already had an inkling of his plans.

“Agreed,” Obi-wan responded, holding out his hand.

The older Jedi reached across the board to meet his palm in a warm handshake. 

Obi-wan smiled, releasing his grip. He let out a contented sigh as he finished rearranging his own chess pieces.

Disaster - darkness had been close, dangerously so.

But as Dooku contemplated his strategy, as Anakin retook his seat in the corner, that threat of what could have been - the terrible visions of betrayal, of galactic calamity - every day those grew further and further away.

“Your move, Obi-wan. One must allow the courtesy of the defeated to make the first move.”

Obi-wan chuckled, reaching for his knight.

Everything was as it should be.


	3. A.V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a preview snippet of a future section of a story in the "Deviations" series. It just makes me laugh.

“Dooku was…obsessed isn’t the right word for it. I don’t know. Maybe it is. But Kenobi is his  _lineage_  and Dooku wanted him. I was just a placeholder. Same with Savage.” Ventress cracked her neck. “I never did get the full story, but it irritated the  _kark_  out of me when I was still apprenticed to that old bastard.”

“Is that why you always went after Obi-wan?” Ahsoka asked, genuinely curious. “You two…” she faltered, not exactly knowing how to summarize the flirtatious banter between the Jedi and ex-Sith. “…well, you had some interesting conversations while you were trying to kill each other.”

Ventress laughed. “Partially, I suppose. You may not believe it, Tano, but even someone like me can appreciate Kenobi’s level of competence, even if it came with typical Jedi sanctimony.” The corners of her mouth quirked upwards. “The man has a smart mouth…and a nice ass,” she added slyly.

Next to her, Quinlan Vos guffawed, slapping his thigh in amusement. “Gotta agree with you on that, Ventress.” He gave the Dathomirian a wide grin.

The color drained out of Ahsoka’s montrails and into her cheeks. This was  _not_ how she was expecting this mission to go.


	4. A.D.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something uplifting.
> 
> (Seriously side-eyes myself...)

The rain fell somewhat unsteadily on the domed window. 

_plat plat….plat………platplatplat_

Obi-wan sighed and wrapped his arms around his midsection, starting past the droplets haphazardly collecting on the synthetic glass.

The convex viewport distorted the landscape outside. Branches, lush with violet-turned-iridescent leaves, hung low, heavy with moisture. They were dwarfed by the potbellies of dark brown tree trunks, bulging unnaturally at the midsection where the middle of the window’s curve met their outline.

To the south, there stood a series of mountains, rising and falling in seemingly perfect undulations, their snow-capped peaks glistening in the rain. To the north, the lush forest continued - on and on, an endless repetition of trees, leaves, bushes, and rocks.

Obi-wan shook his head. And wasn’t that a most artless appraisal of the situation? Some Master he was making. Of course this wasn’t _just_ a random collection of trees, leaves, bushes, and rocks. 

No - it was an intricate ecosystem. A group of seemingly disparate living objects all working together, belonging together, part of something larger than themselves. 

Just like the Jedi.

_Or least some part of them._

Obi-wan rubbed his eyes, turning away from the tableau. When was the last time he had felt like he was truly a part of something? Like he wasn’t looking in from the outside?

The clouds outside seemed to sigh in response, their collective exhale releasing a renewed burst of precipitation onto the already saturated ground.

Sure, the Council found his skills _useful._ And Anakin was essentially obligated to spend time with him, at least until he was Knighted. But Obi-wan had been the first Jedi to kill a Sith in over a thousand years, was now Master - _so prematurely_ \- to one who had the capacity to be the most powerful Jedi in an age.

_Platplatplatplatplat._ The top of the dome thundered with the onslaught of moisture. 

He was everything and nothing at once. Unmoored and lacking in any space, any concept of home, of safety. Ever since Naboo - Force, ever since he had stepped on that transport to Bandomeer so many years ago. Even in the chreche, Obi-wan had looked at everything and everyone around him and thought to himself… _you have no place here._

It had taken little time for Qui-gon and the Jedi to concur.

_Platplatplatknockknocklpat._

_Kriff._  Obi-wan had hoped to wallow in his misery alone, but that seemed out of the question now. His first instinct was to ignore the intruding party, but what would be the point? It was no secret that he was here right now, waiting for Anakin to finish his lessons, and failure to answer the door would only result in more questions that he really didn’t want to answer. 

Not to mention it would be horribly rude.

_Knock knock knock._

Obi-wan sighed, finally getting to his feet and trudging towards the door. 

The stone face of Mace Windu greeted him on the other side. 

“Hello, Obi-wan.”

“Master Windu.”

Neither man moved nor spoke. Mace held a tea set in one hand, his features neutral except for his eyebrows, which were lifted slightly. 

“Please, come in,” Obi-wan said after a beat, motioning in front of himself.

The older Jedi Master entered wordlessly, ducking under the doorframe. He placed the tea set on a small wooden table and wandered into the kitchen, ignoring the other Jedi’s presence. Unsure of what to do, Obi-wan sank back into the couch. He lacked the motivation to pursue the matter further. 

A few minutes later, he found himself with a cup of hot tea in his hands, his fingers tapping lightly on the ceramic dish.

Opposite him, Mace raised his cup and inhaled deeply, his features relaxing. Obi-wan mimicked the gesture. He recognized the soothing aroma of the Korun blend, which was sometimes used as a mild sedative for the anxious or distressed.

Obi-wan’s fingers began to tap more rapidly. 

The rain seemed to fall in tandem with the Jedi’s movement. 

Still, Mace said nothing. 

The other Jedi must have turned up the heat while in the kitchen. The room had gone from bearably cool to oppressively warm in a matter of a few minutes.

And still Mace said nothing. 

Well, two could play at this. Obi-wan sipped his tea quickly, the dregs of tea leaves soon becoming visible on the bottom of his cup. 

So much for soothing.

The other Jedi hummed. Mace placed his cup, still half-full, on the table, crossing his arms against his broad chest. 

“How are you Obi-wan?”

_Taptaptaptaptap._

“Fine, Master Windu. Just waiting for Anakin to get out of class.”

_Platplatplatplatplattaptaptaptapplatplat._

His heartbeat picked up speed, joining the now-chaotic drumming of fingers and precipitation.

“Might I ask your purpose in coming here, Master Windu? I mean, it was quite kind of you to bring tea, but I wasn't expecting any visitors and I, uh...” 

The storm outside had now taken residence in Obi-wan’s mind, a terrible cyclone of fear, shame, and anxiety.The Jedi’s throat tightened as he fought to keep his features neutral. 

Obi-wan gripped his teacup, raising it in front of his mouth. 

He prayed it wouldn’t shake. 

The other Jedi leaned over, his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together. 

“We’re worried, Obi-wan.”

Obi-wan's eyebrows shot up from behind the tea cup. “About Anakin? I assure you that he’s doing quite well, or at least - as well as can be expected. HIs grades are decent, he excels in mechanics and engineering, as you might expect. Meditation has been a bit of a struggle, but I'm confident that with time and a bit of paitience - “

“ _Not_ about Skywalker,” Mace interrupted, holding up a hand. “About you.”

A heavy silence filled the room. The rain had stopped.

“I - I don’t quite understand. Is the Council displeased with me for some reason?”

Mace reached an arm forward, but thought better of it,

“Obi-wan, the Council…” He frowned. “Let me try this again.”

The Korun stood, coming to sit gently on the other end of the couch where Obi-wan was frozen in place. Were they going to take Anakin from him? Had they felt those…those dark desires in the days after Qui-gon’s death? 

Thirteen years later, would they finally admit their mistake?

They had wanted to send him to Bandomeer, had been _determined_ to send him to Bandomeer. He was too angry, too emotional, wasn’t ready to be a Jedi. Even after Qui-gon had reluctantly accepted him, Obi-wan had never been able to shake the feeling of being a fraud, the fear that he was always one step away from being found out, from that awful truth reaching the surface...

That he was just not capable.

And now that time had come, it seemed.

A gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder. 

“It’s not like that at all, Obi-wan.”

The younger Jedi looked up at the ceiling, blinking. Heat formed in his cheeks.

“We want to help.”

He slumped, absently placing the cup between his thighs. Thunder sounded in warning from the far east. 

Obi-wan buried his face in his hands. The torrent began anew, drowning the earth in its own sorrow. 


	5. L. C.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got yelled at a bunch on Tumblr for this one so I figured I should include it here so I can be yelled at some more.
> 
> Prompt was having to do with the idea of the Jedi receiving an even *more* meagre stipend from the Republic than the clones do. Who knew spreadsheets could be so sad?

It had been a particularly horrific battle. Cody didn't even remember - didn't  _want_ to remember the number injured or dead the medics had tallied, the numbers so sterile, so far away from the chaos and bloodshed of the battlefield.

Cody shook his head. No, right now he was only going to to make sure the General was  _actually resting_  this time. He knocked on the door - once, twice…no answer. After waiting what he felt was a relatively polite amount of time, he let himself in.

Obi-wan was still sitting at his desk, head on his arms,  _completely passed out._  Cody held back a laugh, grinning behind a hand - feeling relieved. It seemed that poring over Republic military financial records was enough to put  _anyone_  to sleep. 

The clone stepped forward, weighing whether or not he should try to wake the General so he could sleep in a proper bed. As Cody came to the side of the desk, however, he heard a light snore and some mumbling that almost sounded like General Skywalker's name. 

Cody's smile widened. Who knows what the General was dreaming about? It was better to leave him like this than disturb him.

But as the commander turned to go back to his own quarters, something caught his eye. Now, he was no General, just a clone - made for fighting, and not much else. Over the past year, however, Obi-wan had had Cody help him with some of the more boring aspects of running a large portion of the GAR. 

Which meant budgets. Lots and lots of budgets.

To be honest, Cody was still uncertain whether he was supposed to be flattered or not. While he enjoyed having the General’s trust and tutelage, he could never quite shake the idea that this was also the perfect punishment for a man bred for action.

Whatever his intentions, however, Obi-wan’s instructions had left Cody with a keen eye for even the most subtle discrepancies in a sea of mind-numbing numbers. And the ones he was seeing on the flimsi half-hidden under the General’s elbow made no sense. 

The Republic was stingy, every clone knew that. Especially when it came time for furlough. Credits never seemed to stretch quite far enough at 79s - on those desperate nights where one sought pleasure through the bottom a bottle, or perhaps other, more desperate means. 

But - but the Jedi…

Cody admittedly didn’t understand everything about the Jedi. To him, they were great warriors with amazing powers - the ability to read minds or telekinetically lift objects off the ground. But they also were - as Obi-wan would remind them often enough - more than that. The General never uttered the word “religion,” but Cody had heard that term thrown around - and worse - on various worlds. 

Obi-wan had only stated that the Jedi led simple lives in service of both the Republic and the Force, but Cody couldn’t believe how any sentient being could exist on a stipend  _that_  small, no less an entire organization as large as the Jedi. The Republic gave more to the  _clones_ , and Cody certainly knew where he stood in the eyes of the rich Senators and other privileged members of Coruscanti society. 

Still…it did explain some of the General’s more eccentric behaviors. Cody had no doubt that Obi-wan was a naturally skilled negotiator, but how much of that skill had been cultivated by necessity, rather than want? The way he seemed to be able to trade a simple set of clothing into a set of full rations, just with the magic of his words. The way the eyes of certain bartenders tended to gloss over when it came time for the tab, their sudden loss of memory not due to imbibing their own wares…

The General stirred and Cody froze, staring at the man as if he had never laid eyes on him before. It was the first time he had even seen Obi-wan as...as _dangerous_ , as someone who could - if he so wanted - control his very thoughts, his actions. Turn him against his own men, he supposed. 

But then the General reached out a hand, grasping Cody’s with his own. The Jedi let out a contended sigh, seemingly unaware of himself as he settled back into his deep slumber. 

Cody shook his head, internally remonstrating himself. No, whatever skills Obi-wan had had to… _develop_ in order to survive - it didn’t come from malice, from a desire to control. 

He took one last glance at the sleeping General, quelling the urge to smooth his unruly hair as he left the room. 

Whatever was happening in the Republic made no sense to him. Maybe, just maybe - he would talk to Rex about it tomorrow. 

After Utapau.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY. 
> 
> yell at me here or @legobiwan


End file.
